Smile On The Sidelines
by JessieJay13
Summary: Derek was not pining. Not to say that he didn't miss Stiles, didn't want to be with him at that moment (or literally any moment, to be quite honest), but he wasn't one of those obnoxious clingy people who lost track of the world as soon his boyfriend was out of his sight. It was just a basketball game anyway.


**A/N: Just some cute fluff based off a random manip gif on tumblr. XD**

* * *

"C'mon, cap, get your head in the game!"

Derek groaned loud and long and punched Boyd in the shoulder. Boyd just laughed.

"Man, you did not just quote High School Musical at me," Derek said.

"Well, if you weren't too busy pining to see the ball—" The ball in question smacked into Derek's chest, thrown his way by the smirking Isaac always at Boyd's shoulder. "—maybe I wouldn't have to."

Derek threw the ball back to Isaac with a roll of his eyes.

"I'm not pining."

Really, he wasn't. Not to say that he didn't miss Stiles, didn't want to be with him at that moment (or literally any moment, to be quite honest), but he wasn't one of those obnoxious clingy people who lost track of the world as soon his boyfriend was out of his sight. A big part of him wished that Stiles could be there, but he couldn't and Derek accepted that.

It was just a basketball game anyway. Granted, it was the championship game, the one with scouts in the audience upon whom Derek's hope for a full-ride basketball scholarship hung, the culmination of Derek's entire high school athletic career. But Derek was more than capable of handling it without his boyfriend to hold his hand and walk him through it. Believe it or not, he was actually pretty good at this whole sports thing. Hence the title of "captain," which his friends and teammates clearly had no respect for.

"Tell me again why that little rat bastard isn't here?" Jackson asked from halfway through a strength. "I swear, if Stilinski having better things to do loses us the championship because our playmaker can't focus—"

Derek flicked him in the ear hard enough to make him yelp.

"He's busy," Derek said staunchly. "Finals are coming up."

Jackson scoffed with all his usual disgust and took off for another warm-up lap around the court, too antsy to stay still as they waited for the match to commence.

Derek was restless too and, as much as he insisted he wasn't pining, he couldn't stop his eyes from skating across the stands, searching for the thick-rimmed glasses and wild hair he loved so much. He didn't find them; of course he didn't, because Stiles wasn't there.

Derek threw himself down into a strength, feeling the burn in his hamstrings and trying to center himself. His teammates were right in that he needed to be on top of it tonight. Everything was riding on this and the Knights hadn't won the playoffs in over two decades. If he could lead them to a victory, Derek's name would go down in their school's history and he would practically _guaranteed_ entry into any school on the west coast.

No pressure.

With a quiet curse, Derek jogged over to his gym bag and pulled out his phone. He read Stiles' texts one more time:

 _break legs, sourwolf xoxo_

 _wait that's for theater isn't it?_

 _nvm don't break legs, just play good ;)_

They made him smile, like pretty much every text he got from Stiles did. They weren't as good as a tight hug or a good luck kiss, but they did help to settle his nerves a bit and he tucked his phone away again.

Stiles would've been there. Really, he wasn't much of a sports fan and he wasn't shy about that fact, but he still came to Derek's games when Derek asked him to even if he mostly lounged in the stands and played games on his phone and only cheered when Derek made a particularly impressive shot. This time, though…

"It's just a really important essay, babe," Stiles had said with a frustrated frown on his face, "and I haven't had nearly as much time to work on it as I wish I did. It's like 20% of the final grade and I'm already hanging on by a thread in that class 'cause Finstock's grading scale is whacked out and—"

Derek had cut him off with a kiss because, really, it wasn't a big deal. He didn't need Stiles to be there at all his games, that just wasn't how they worked.

Frankly, it was sort of a miracle he'd managed to convince Stiles to come to _any_ of his games. The first time Derek had asked, Stiles had rolled his eyes into the next century.

"That's so cliche!" he'd scoffed, kicking his Converse up onto the dashboard of Derek's brand new camaro. "Waiting on the sidelines for you to let me wear your Letterman jacket so everyone knows we're going steady? What am I, a cheerleader from the '50s?"

Derek had just sighed theatrically, shoved Stiles' feet off the dashboard, and stolen half his curly fries. And it had only taken two more games for Stiles to be in the crowd, sulking like it was a betrayal of his principles to set foot in the gymnasium even though he'd shown up without Derek asking him again, just because he knew Derek would appreciate him being there.

That's how Derek knew this essay was really important. Because this was the kind of game that Stiles _definitely_ would have come to, if he could have, to support his boyfriend in a critical moment.

And if Derek maybe had another reason for wanting to see him tonight, then that was on him. Stiles probably didn't even know, which was fine. It wasn't their anniversary—that would be in a few weeks, a full year since their first date—but it was the anniversary of the detention that had kickstarted their relationship.

An hour spent together in mostly silence, Harris looming over them with his beady eyes narrowed, probably wasn't something most people would want to celebrate, but Derek was a romantic at heart and would never forget the afternoon when he first fell in love with Stiles' smile and that glint in his eye.

So maybe he had been hoping to get another smile like that tonight, to pay a little tribute to how far they'd come in the eleven months since, but that was silly and sappy and it wasn't gonna break his heart to miss out on it. Especially not over a perfectly valid, realistic complication like schoolwork.

Coach blew his whistle, the sound ringing out shrilly over the babble of the crowd, and Derek was quick to huddle up with everyone else. With one last shake of his head, he banished all thoughts of missing his absent boyfriend and refocused on the game, on being the best player and the best leader he could be.

This moment, with his arms around Boyd's and Jackson's shoulders and Coach across from him rambling out a completely ludicrous speech in an attempt to inspire them, was the very best part of it all. By the time Coach was shouting _"FOR SCOTLAND"_ as if that made a damn bit of sense in context, Derek was bouncing on his feet, adrenaline pumping, raring to go. The huddle broke and they all scattered, heading for starting positions as the players on the opposing team did the same.

Derek was just shaking out the last of the tension in his shoulders when Isaac started whacking him in the shoulder repeatedly.

"Hey, cap!" he said, the grin on his face wide enough to make his eyes crinkle up and disappear. "Your boy showed up!"

"What? Who?"

But then Boyd was whooping in his ear too, pounding on his back and physically turning Derek around to face the stands. Baffled, Derek followed Boyd's pointing finger to the far edge of the stands where the crowds thinned out, and there—

Stiles was lounged out on the risers, one foot propped up on the row below, cool as could be. His glasses were sliding down his nose, he had a beanie pulled haphazardly over his hair like he hadn't had a chance to wash it today and didn't want to go out in public with it all gross, and he was the most beautiful thing Derek had ever seen.

Stiles looked up from his phone as Boyd called his name and there was that smile, the one Derek had been dying to see, all mischief and mayhem with that hint of sweetness just for him.

"Oh my god, he's here."

Isaac laughed uproariously at the wonder in his tone, but Derek couldn't help that any more than he could help the grin that spread across his face. All he could do was put his hands over his mouth to try and retain at least some of his macho image, but it was no good, everyone had already seen. Isaac was still laughing, Boyd was making cooing noises at him, and Jackson was gagging in the most exaggerated way he could manage.

But Stiles was biting his lip, and Derek was almost certain there was a blush on his cheeks, so his teammates could make fun of him all they wanted to.

Before Derek could throw himself up the rickety stairs, Coach blew the whistle again. Stiles waved a hand at him, mouthing "go" and "good luck," so Derek finally pulled himself away to face the other team. They looked the tiniest bit disconcerted by his persistent smile, but that could only work in his favor, right?

The first quarter went by in a daze, and Derek could honestly say that they had never played so well. The ball flew between them so quickly it was a blur, every pass was smooth, and each shot found its mark no matter the distance. By the time the whistle blew, there was doubt in Derek's mind that they were going to win this game.

Stiles had abandoned his perch on the risers to stand courtside, hands shoved deep in his pockets like that would make him look less like a groupie. There was a smirk firmly in place on his face as Derek jogged up to him.

"So?" he asked. "You gonna give me your Letterman jacket or what? That's how these things usually go, right?"

"Pretty sure everyone already knows we're going steady," Derek replied with a raised eyebrow, reaching around Stiles to grab the rag from his duffel bag. He hid his pleased look in it when Stiles snorted. He dried off his face, draped the rag over his shoulder, and said with only the slightest reluctance, "I thought you had an essay to write."

Stiles made a face.

"Mmm, 'bout that," he said, sounding every bit as guilty as he looked but also the tiniest bit smug in that way that only he could manage. "I may have told Finstock I had an emergency and needed an extension."

Derek stared at him. Then he looked back at where Coach was shouting nonsense at a very bored-looking Greenberg. Then back at his boyfriend, who he could've sworn was smarter than this.

"Stiles, you do realize that Finstock is right there, don't do?"

"Course I do," Stiles said with a shrug. "Why do you think I'm wearing the beanie? He'll never recognize me. Trust me, I'm free and clear."

Derek opened his mouth to argue, but honestly he wasn't entirely sure that Stiles was wrong; Coach was strangely good at what he did, but he wasn't exactly the brightest crayon in the box. He shook his head instead, wondering for the thousandth time how he had managed to get so lucky.

"I'm really glad you're here," he admitted, fervently ignoring the continued catcalls from his teammates.

Stiles didn't ignore them. Instead, he waved over Derek's shoulder with a big wink and blew them all a kiss, which Jackson responded to with vehement exclamations of disgust. Chuckling, Stiles stepped in closer, close enough to make it feel like it was just the two of them.

"I didn't want to miss this," he said softly, almost like he was embarrassed by the display of thoughtfulness. "I know how important it is to you. And...well, I don't know if you remember, but it's...kind of an anniversary of ours."

Derek looked up sharply from where he'd been watching the pink spread across Stiles' cheekbones.

"You— You remembered that too?"

Stiles squinted at him for a second, apparently judging whether or not Derek actually knew what he was talking about or was just humoring him. Then his expression brightened and he said, "Yeah, of course. How could I forget the first time I saw you smile?" He shrugged. "Seems like something worth celebrating to me."

Maybe kissing his boyfriend silly on the sidelines of the championship game was woefully cliche, but Derek didn't care and, from the way Stiles kissed him back, he was pretty sure his boyfriend didn't mind cliches as much as he liked to be pretend he did. Wolf-whistles and catcalls sounded all around them, and Derek was almost certain Stiles was flipping the rest of the team off over his shoulder, and only Coach calling his name (amidst a volley of swear words that Derek was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to use around the students) could pull him away.

"Go get 'em, cap," Stiles said, breathless and flushed and grinning, and Derek could only nod.

Then Stiles slapped his ass as he turned back to the court, laughing, and Derek resolved to buy Stiles a Letterman jacket of his very own with Derek's name on the back for Christmas, just to pay him back for that. (He was pretty sure Stiles would wear it anywhere, no matter how much he would bitch about it first.)


End file.
